


Dark Country

by libroslunae



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Hogfather (2006)
Genre: F/M, I should be studying but who cares, Susathan is love susathan is life, fuck me basically, in which Susan says damn a lot, is anyone even reading these, lame, rated T for Teatime, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libroslunae/pseuds/libroslunae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teatime - in short - is not dead. And when gods meddle, stars collide, and one writer faces a four-a.m.-red-bull-and-self-hatred-induced writing extravaganza, the product is a songfic that explores a deep desire embedded in all beings: love and accept, to be loved and accepted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Prelude: None’s Fair in Love and War**

                With the fateful events of Hogswatch having passed, Susan Sto Helit was feeling better and more normal than ever. The Disc had a certain way of not caring who you were or what you had been through: as soon as said event was over, the world itself would gently jerk you back to reality as if to say _hello, what the fuck are you doing?_

Susan was unperturbed by this, but somewhere on the other side of the Disc, something… stirred.

                In a shady corner of the circular world, good intentions became bad execution as a deal was made between three physical anthropomorphic personifications and countless others in spirit. A body was brought and clothed, a wound cleaned, a scrying glass popped in, a few rules of physics broken. But this world was one where physics mattered very little and common sense reigned: if the body believed it was not dead, nor did the people around it, it stands to reason the body is not dead. It was barely a twang in the fabric of space time when Mister Teatime was brought from the afterlife into the breathing world. And as quickly as the three had entered, because they were aware that if Teatime awoke to see them he would instinctively become dangerous. Even a wink in the sockets of Death himself would not prevent this from happening.

                Because when Fate played, it got dirty. When bets were made, it was war. And when their subjects were Susan and Teatime, it was bound to go either very right or very wrong.

Naturally it wasn’t war from the beginning, in fact, Fate had been wrong – it was never war at all. It was just a game, a card game with die and occasionally some shouting. The granddaughter of Death played strategically; the assassin, craftily. What a pair the two made.  

                Somewhere in the recesses of their playing room between the piles of chipped coins and “rain check” orders, Love whispered.

                “I told you so.”


	2. Battle One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that before I post anything at all, it should be said that I am NOT in any way confident in my work. If you think it's not very good, just know that I also think so. My style is only like pTerry's on a good day, and frankly, I hate my writing a lot. Okay. That's over with. *wipes nervous sweat from brow*

_“So here we are, alone at last/and on my own home ground/the lady and the tiger/or perhaps the fox and hound.”_

                Susan Sto Helit had always had a certain way of doing things. It was comparable to order, but instead it was really a type of organized chaos. When it was upset, she would usually settle down at the end of the day with a good book and some cocoa, likely nursing a massive headache. However, when the “order” was upset at night, it was so difficult to notice the difference, especially with her vigorous attempts at normality.

                The knock at the door presented itself early in the morning (for the Disc): most people who had the courtesy to knock woke up near eleven of the clock.

                It was nine-thirty.

                _Okay,_ Susan thought to herself. _It’s the Watch. Whatever Gawain has done I’m sure will be able to be fixed or compensated for._

But as Susan opened the door and the gods crossed their fingers, her eyes widened and breath quickened and then the door was very, very quickly not open any more.

                Slowly  this time, she unbolted it again, listening to every creak of the hinge until she could almost see past the wood. Then she threw it open with a jerk.

                He was still there.

                “Shit!” she said loudly.

                “That’s not very ladylike of you,” Teatime remarked.

                The door shut with alacrity.

                “Aren’t you going to let me in?” his voice came.

                “No!” Susan shouted, locking it three ways. She rushed to the living area and grappled her hands around a poker. The door rattled behind her.

                “If you somehow find a way to get in here,” she said lowly, “I will use this on you. Again.” It then dawned on her that he did not know what she was holding. “It’s a poker,” she sighed lamely.

                “Susan, let me in!”

                “No way, _Teatime_.”

                “Teh-ah-tim-eh,” came the reply almost faster than she said the name itself.

                “Call yourself what you like,” the governess said. “I killed you! You’re dead!”

                “That’s why I’m here,” the assassin replied with eerie calm. “I’m not quite sure…why I’m here.”

                “So you came to see the person who killed you.” Her reply was dry.

                “I thought maybe you knew what you did wrong?”

                “ _Wrong?”_ Susan was baffled. “I stabbed you in the gut with fireside equipment. I don’t think I did _anything_ wrong!”

                There was a pause as the door quit rattling. “If you just start _thinking_ , Susan. _I_ started thinking, just a second ago, and I’ve realized I think I know who’s responsible.”

                Susan breathed a sigh of relief, resting her forehead on the door. On the other side, Teatime did the same. “Good,” was her short reply. “Go find them. Go away and –” STOP BOTHERING ME.

                “No, no, no, you see.” The whimsical edge had slipped back into his voice. “I can’t do that…because I need _you._ For that I need _you._ ”

                She carefully opted for the silent response.

                “I think,” Teatime continued, beginning to turn the knob again, “your grandfather might have something in plan.”

                Susan thought.

                _Yes, that would make sense. What type of sense, I’m not exactly sure: but only he would have motive and skill to revive a dead being._

_A dead being who tried to kill him, mind._

Slowly, she spoke. “Yes.”

                _Since that went so well, let’s add more._

“I’ll visit him.”

                Susan could almost _feel_ Teatime’s pout through the wood. She could see his broken mind-clock tick tick tock twang, his “inner child” becoming more and more upset. “I want to go _too!”_

                “Very well,” the Inner Babysitter sighed, unbolting the doors once more. “You can come too.”

                He smiled when she opened the door, stepping past her out of the way of the poker.

                “Nice place you’ve got here.”

                Susan rolled her eyes.

                “Let’s play a game.”

                “Let’s go to see Granddad,” she corrected sternly.

                The assassin crossed his arms, but made no further comment.

                High above the Disc, the gods laughed and Fate counted her coins. Susan had won the first battle.


End file.
